


One Year

by yuffiehighwind



Series: Some Kind of Madness [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Memory Alteration, Multiple Personalities, Non-Linear Narrative, Shorts, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships in Storybrooke have a temporary quality unique to the town. So does memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Father

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 1-4 are based on episodes up through S2 Ep9 "Queen of Hearts." Chapters 5-6 are based on episodes up through S2 Ep 11 "The Outsider," and Chapter 7 is based on episodes up through S2 Ep16 "The Miller's Daughter." Part of my series "Some Kind of Madness." Some of it takes place during my fanfic "Only Sometimes." Plays fast and loose with canon. Nonlinear. Rated "Mature" for Chapter 7. Dubcon Regina/Graham in Chapter 4.
> 
> Later Note: Jossed. The nature of time during the 28 years in cursed Storybrooke no longer fits canon as of S2 Ep17 "Welcome to Storybrooke." 
> 
> [Edit: I also later found out that Jefferson's wife was named Priscilla, but she's called Alice here. I wrote my fics before I read the tie-in comic "Out of the Past."]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Granting herself knowledge of our world came with unexpected side effects.

A young Regina huddled by the roaring fire her father had made at the girl's insistence.

"That's quite large enough, my dear."

The girl leaned in, mesmerized by the dancing flames. Placing a warning hand on her shoulder, he tutted, "No, no, Regina. You'll singe your eyebrows that close!"

He nudged the girl away and set the fireplace screen in front of the blaze. Regina felt like her face was melting and shuffled back. She removed her shawl and rolled up her sleeves. Reaching a hand out, she tested how close she could get. The metal screen was a necessary precaution, even for a ten-year-old like her. The fire stirred buried feelings - strange feelings - within Regina. Faint memories of such heat bursting from her own fingertips. She longed to do it again.

Her father sat in his armchair watching his daughter's fascination. He chuckled.

"It's as if you'd never seen fire before!"

"Not like this," she murmured.

 

* * *

 

Regina woke up.

She'd been dozing in her father's _(No, no. Not her real father's)_ old armchair. Fallen asleep where she sat gazing into its flames and missing home.

A "home" where every precious thing had been ripped from her. A "home" she had been so desperate to escape she killed the only person she loved.

She rubbed the armrests and tried imagining him sitting there next to her, but the dream had faded quickly. Regina remembered everything - she just needed a trigger - but her father's face was blurry, now. What year was it? Ten years later? Twenty? She was thankful that at least, resting here, head foggy with spiked eggnog, she had briefly forgotten killing him.

She rarely remembered her false life - the one she had given herself to provide sufficient knowledge of this world and this era. To understand the technology, the culture, the language, the stories. Earth's history. Inheriting this house.

He'd raised her alone, hadn't he? Theirs was a very old, very wealthy Maine family. Her mother died. Yes, her mother died when she was a baby. Before she could teach her magic. No, there wasn't any magic here. Magic didn't exist. It was just a fairytale.

Regina's eyes drooped and she felt herself giving in to the happy false memories of a normal childhood in Maine. Was it a blessing or a curse that she remembered everything? Cora, Leopold, Snow? Daniel? Would it still count as revenge, if she didn't? No. How could she enjoy their suffering if she couldn't remember? How could she forfeit her entire identity? Even during her false childhood that imaginary Regina's fingers itched to perform magic again - like it was an atrophied muscle. It was part of her, in any world. How long had she been without it, now? Too long. 


	2. One Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On New Years Eve the townspeople lose their memories all over again. After 15 years in Storybrooke, Jefferson and Regina test if this is true.

_"Why do you always feel it necessary to ruin my life?"_

_The Mayor looked confused._

_"What are you talking about, 'always?' We've hardly spoken before tonight."_

 

**December 1997**

Regina knocked back a nip of peppermint Schnapps and smiled at one of her loyal subjects. Frederick? No, here his name was Jim. He winked at her and Regina excused herself from her table at The Rabbit Hole she shared with Kathryn Nolan and their friend Maya. The woman nudged her towards him, laughing.

"Go get 'im!" Kathryn né Abigail said, with no idea her friend intended to hit on her One True Love.

Regina sat on a barstool beside him, shooting the man another flirtatious grin.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, as she approached. "Madame Mayor?"

"I'd love one, and please, call me Regina."

"That's a beautiful name. Like a queen..." Jim began to say, when a tall man in a long coat squeezed between them to beckon the bartender.

"Excuse me," he mumbled. Regina's patience ever thin, she prepared a harsh reprimand until he turned his head. The man's eyes widened and his nostrils flared, very briefly - so briefly she'd have missed it if she blinked - as if it were Regina who had rudely invaded his space. He swiftly recovered and gave her an apologetic smile.

"Hey, pal, we were talking!" Jim said.

"My apologies. I didn't realize," the man said, stepping back. He approached the bar from Regina's other side instead.

"Bourbon, please. Neat."

Regina tried not to notice the heat of him against her back. Willed herself to tune him out completely, to keep smiling at Jim. Resisted turning to observe the man she hadn't seen in...had it really been 15 years? He had never crossed her mind, not even once, not even when she touched the felt of that hat. It obeyed her, at the end. It didn't any longer, not in this land without magic. She took it out during desperate moments - nights she took all she'd done back. She'd set it down on the floor and spin it and spin it and scream at the battered fabric to take her home, if it still existed. Or had ever existed at all.

She'd hurry back to the graveyard, and remembered returning from Boston to entomb her father there, but that had never happened, had it? She could picture the funeral and herself at 25, but that hadn't happened either.

Regina's heart vault vibrated with a thousand heartbeats. Daniel lay in stasis in his own locked room. Drawers of relics lined the walls of another chamber, and every piece of eerie magic and memories attested to the fact she was - had been - a sorceress, except those dreams of her father, his family, and growing up during Carter/Reagan/Bush, tucked away in a fishing town in New England far from the wars and idealistic as the real Regina had been as a child.

None of this crossed her mind in the bar, however. Just swirling purple and black and her old lover's desperate screams.

Regina looked down, then up at Jim.

"I'll have what he's having," she said.

Jim's brow furrowed and he sighed. He turned around and caught Kathryn's eyes. Their eyes met, but the woman played with her wedding ring and looked away.

"You like Maker's Mark, too?" the tall man asked Regina. "I didn't think you'd be a fan. I'd assume red wine was more to your taste...Madame Mayor."

The bartender handed them the whiskey.

Regina said, "Cheers," and the man hesitated before clinking his tumbler with hers.

"Cheers."

They each took a sip. Regina tried to hide her grimace.

"I've never been to Town Meeting, so I don't believe we've ever met. My name is Jefferson."

He held out his hand. Regina took it.

"Regina."

"Your date seems to have run off."

"So he has."

The alcohol she'd drank this evening was clearly clouding her judgment, and quite possibly her perception, too.  This couldn't be her Jefferson. It  _had_  to be a different one. She squinted up at him, examining every wrinkle. The man had a red silk cravat around his neck and had kept his long dark coat on, even in the heat of the bar. He had bags under his eyes and his hands wouldn't stop slightly moving, as if they were resisting some repetitive motion, like he was sewing thread. The bartender and several others were giving him uneasy looks. Regina was the only one in the bar smiling at him.

"I have that effect on people."

"A handsome man like you?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, even a handsome man like me."

"So, Jefferson, tell me about yourself."

"Hmm. Well, I like fine whiskey, fine wine. I live on the edge of town and I'm very good with my hands." He smirked at Regina who blushed, in spite of herself. "Oh, and I didn't vote for you in the last election."

Regina pursed her lips and shook her head disapprovingly.

"You're really bad at this."

"At what?"

"Flirting."

"Oh, I wasn't. Believe me, you'd know if I was."

"Try me."

Jefferson sipped his drink again. Looked her over and took a breath. Then his entire face changed, as well as his body language, like he was transforming somehow by magic into a different man. Regina's heart skipped. He looked like the conman she'd met 30 years ago.

 

* * *

 

"Who's that?" Kathryn asked her friend Maya.

"Isn't that the creep that lives in the woods?"

"What's he doing here?"

Kathryn could see him running a fingertip down Regina's bare arm. She wasn't flinching. He leaned in to whisper something in her ear. Regina shifted slightly on her barstool, looking either nervous or aroused, to a trained eye. When he pulled away, she smiled.  He ran his palm down her arm to her hand. He picked it up and kissed it.

"Why is Regina letting him touch her like that?"

"She seems to know him."

They saw their friend laugh.

"What's he saying?"

"She's grabbing her purse."

They watched her leave the bar with the man without saying goodbye to them. Without a second glance.

 

* * *

 

Regina pulled out a pack of cigarettes and handed him one. She lit them both.

"Thanks."

Blowing out smoke, Regina said, "That was much better. A-plus."

"It's difficult," he said, his charming smile gone. "Being around people."

"Why'd you come out tonight, then?"

"It gets...lonely without them." He took a drag on his cigarette, then said, "It's a catch 22."

Regina linked her arm in his. She felt him flinch slightly, which was odd, since his own hands had been all over her moments earlier.

"Why'd you come?" he asked.

"My friend's husband left her. I was helping her forget."

"You good at that? Helping people forget?" His voice had a dangerous edge to it. "You seemed a little eager to ditch her."

"Maybe I needed a distraction, too."

"Ah. I'm flattered, but..."

"You're not married," she said, gesturing to his left hand. It was still twitching.

He looked away, looking sad.

"No. No, not anymore."

"I'm sorry," Regina said, softly. "Seeing someone?"

_He wouldn't be. The Curse would have left him with no one, all alone. His daughter with a new name, and another family. His money no comfort._

He chuckled. "I don't really get out much. Besides, I just moved here from..." He paused, as if straining to remember. "I just moved here."

"Welcome to Storybrooke, Jefferson."

He unlinked their arms and set off for his car.

"Thanks," he said. "I've got to get going. Goodnight."

"Wait!" she called. He froze but didn't turn around. "I can't let you drive intoxicated." She pulled out her keys and followed him. "I'm parked right over there," she said, pointing down the road to her car.

"You've been drinking more than I have," he said, waving her off.

"No I haven't, and I insist. It's no trouble."

"And my car?"

"You can come get it tomorrow."

"I don't live anywhere near here, Regina, so it's a bit of a hike. Unless you're implying something I'm not getting."

He slowly approached her, his old swagger back. The charm back like a mask.

"You want to come home with me tonight." It wasn't a question.

"Am I being that obvious?"

He leaned closer to whisper, "Transparently."

She licked her lips and he smirked.

"I'm going home. Alone. Goodnight, Regina."

"Goodnight."

She watched him drive away, and it was surprisingly difficult to feel smug. That extra bit of the Curse hadn't worked, had it? If he remembered anything, he'd have killed her.

And he was walking free, unchained. He could interact with people like a man and not a ghost. If he had a reputation among the townspeople, she hadn't heard it. She'd forgotten she'd even brought him to Storybrooke.

Regina stepped back inside and found her friends. They smiled widely and Kathryn embraced her. A sloppy Kathryn, who'd had several glasses of wine, apparently.

"We thought you were going home with him!" she said, sounding quite relieved Regina hadn't.

Maya said, " _Jefferson_? Really?"

"What are you talking about? We just stepped out for a smoke."

"How do you know him?"

"I don't," she lied. "We just met."

Her friends' descriptions of Jefferson poured over her. She took them in with some puzzlement. This didn't sound like her old lover at all.

"He's not normally such a charmer. He's usually much stranger than that."

"He talks to himself."

"Sometimes he explodes with rage."

"He never smiles."

"He's always silent and glares at you if you approach him."

"We've never seen him flirt like that. We had no idea he was capable."

Some things made sense and others didn't. Regina ordered another tumbler of whiskey and her friends winced as she gulped it down.

"What on Earth are you doing? You hate liquor."

"I think it may be growing on me."

 

* * *

 

Regina didn't attend the New Year's parties. It wasn't magic, exactly, what occurred at midnight. No one noticed the shift in reality - it was imperceptible. If Kathryn or Sydney wheedled her into attending, she always left before midnight. Every year she used a different excuse.  _"I'm not feeling well." "I'm tired."_   _"I think it was Granny's crab dip."_  Sometimes she mixed it up, because she knew they'd forget an hour later.  _"This isn't real. None of your lives are real. I made it all up. You're all dreaming. You're all stuck in a nightmare."_

It was tradition for the Mayor to do the Countdown, which the citizens stopped having in front of the frozen Clock Tower because it was always 8:15 and it always would be and nothing could change it, because the repairman never came and someone always forgot to call him.

They had the celebration inside, where even Storybrooke had access to Dick Clark New Year's Rockin' Eve. They counted with him and the tens of thousands crowding Times Square. A snowstorm always drove everyone into the local bar. One year, Regina actually did organize an event in Town Hall. That was the year she decided to never have another one, because she watched the confused faces of kissing couples whose love had bloomed only that year, and deep inside her icy core, Regina's heart broke for each and every one of them.

She found herself at the bar again, craning her neck looking for Jefferson, which was foolish and wrong, but time was running out and he would forget her touches anyway.

She found the misanthrope in a far corner. He looked up and didn't offer her a seat or even a smile.

"May I join you?" she asked.

He nodded and she sat.

"I don't like New Year's either," she said, "but here we both are."

He didn't respond, just sipped his drink. When he'd nearly finished it, she asked, "Can I buy you another?"

The man shrugged. Regina waved over a waitress and said, "Another...what is it? Maker's Mark? Neat?" He nodded. "And I'll have a glass of champagne."

The girl looked nervous and stammered, "We've...we've run out, ma'am."

The cold Queen narrowed her eyes but the Mayor recovered, saying, "Then I'll have a glass of the house white."

The waitress scurried away and Jefferson said, "You could have used your powers to get us an entire bottle, you know."

Regina arched an eyebrow.

"I didn't think you'd be a fan."

"Everyone drinks champagne on New Year's Eve. Even single Mayors, I expect. I bet you always open up your own bottle, at home. Sip it and muse over every miserable year."

She narrowed her eyes. "Watch it!"

"Don't you wonder when it's going to be different? We all make promises to ourselves that it will, that we'll change. But life here in Storybrooke is changeless. Everyone's stuck. Some don't want to be."

Regina licked her lips and swallowed.

"Are you saying you're stuck here? You moved here, though, didn't you?  You chose this place."

"I realized that solitude has its disadvantages."

The waitress returned surprisingly quickly with their drinks. Regina handed her a twenty dollar bill. The girl started to count out change from her apron but Regina shook her head. She smiled gratefully and left to serve another customer.

"Generous," the man said.

"You sound surprised. You speak as if you know me."

Jefferson didn't respond to that.

The two of them sat quietly listening to the music, the chatter, and finally the excited crowd yelling up at the television that it was almost time. Regina glanced over at Jefferson. They didn't join in on the countdown. She forced a smile, hiding her bitterness. Another changeless year lay ahead, and she was becoming so very tired of the repetition.

She held her breath when the countdown reached zero and Auld Lang Syne blasted from the speakers. Couples embraced and cheered. She felt Jefferson lean over, his hot breath on her neck and her heart sped up, just slightly. She remembered every touch, every inch of him, from long before Alice and Grace and betrayal.

She turned her head and he kissed her. Politely, with a closed mouth. He backed away and Regina leaned forward to kiss him again, to savor the taste of him. He kissed back, and his lips were as soft as they ever were, but he tasted like whiskey. She put a hand on his thigh and Jefferson hesitated before pulling away. She waited for the blank look and embarrassed confusion that crossed every man's face at midnight, but it didn't come.

"Happy New Year," he whispered.

"Happy New Year."

He shut his eyes and looked conflicted, but the shift still didn't cross his face. "I gotta go," he said, getting up. Regina touched his hand.

"Stay with me," she whispered, but he shook his head.

Then Jefferson looked around the room and saw confused faces morph into happier ones, the joyful cheers resuming. Couples danced with entirely different partners. He looked back at Regina, realization dawning on his face.

"Oh, Madame Mayor," he said, removing his hand and feigning awkward confusion so obviously that Regina thought,  _He has to know. He knows. He always has._

"I've never been to Town Meeting, so I don't believe we've ever met. My name is Jefferson," he said, but it sounded forced. He held out his hand. She took it.

"Call me Regina."


	3. Two Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love would bloom in Storybrooke for one year only. Every so often, the Mayor allowed it.

There was something deeply comforting about science. About biology. Hard facts.

Dr. Jonathan Whale had grown up _-_ (or had his whole life been fully formed and decided from the start?) _-_ fascinated with how things worked. He would aggravate his parents by taking apart every mechanical thing he could get his hands on, to put them back together himself, from scratch. That was until he was old enough to roam Maine's wilderness, observing the bugs and birds. He took home an injured baby raccoon, once, to nurse back to health, but it died in the night. His father had to pry its little box away from Jonathan, who cried at the injustice of it. Why did death have to be so final? He pored over books and soared through his science classes determined to gain some control over life and death. The best he could do was become a doctor, and a surgeon. He grew proud and more than a little bit haughty about his skill, but still cried, sometimes, in private, if he lost a patient. A surgeon had to remain cold and clinical, or find the humor in his job, looking death square in the eye and showing no fear. Death was inevitable, and yet...and yet...

An optimist like Mary Margaret Blanchard, a kind woman that seemed to have no cruel bone in her body, was a tempering presence in Dr. Whale's life. Their courtship was awkward and seemed to take ages to develop, not least because both were too afraid to show interest first. Which struck Mary Margaret as quite odd, because she could name at least four acquaintances who had slept with him. She assumed she was just too plain, not beautiful enough. Not sexy or wild enough for a man who could so easily shed his clinical, professional demeanor to unwind at The Rabbit Hole and walk out with, potentially, a different woman every night.

That is, if Dr. Whale had any free nights. There was a dearth of physicians in Storybrooke, never mind surgeons. Some from outside the town came and went - (left with an unsettling feeling about the town, they never came back) - but Storybrooke's resident staff was pitifully small. Then again, so was their clinic. It was far too cramped a hospital, with only one building.

Dr. Whale had some recollection of an eerie psych ward in their basement, not far from their equally eerie morgue, which couldn't possibly be rehabilitative for their patients. And the morgue was never empty, because strangely and tragically, anyone from town that strayed past Storybrooke's borders or very far out of the harbor showed up in pieces or not at all.

But Storybrooke's citizens never really needed to leave. Deliveries were brought in by outsiders, and anything being sent out went with them too. No townspeople applied for work elsewhere or spoke of vacations or college or relocating. Dr. Whale wouldn't dream of leaving anyway. His role as chief surgeon dominated most of his time and the town had grown on him. He loved Storybrooke, and its beautiful women and kind hearts like Mary Margaret, who volunteered at the hospital whenever she could to read to patients, even the ones beyond recovery like John Doe.

Morgan or Gwen or Maya or Tina were nice enough girls - beautiful girls, like princesses, almost - but none of them were Mary Margaret Blanchard. Who had surely observed his womanizing with a critical eye and written him off completely. It was autumn before their friendship became drinks, and drinks became movies, and movies became sex on his couch, and finally a proper bed. His nights in Mary Margaret's modest loft were the best, however, because it smelled like her and was so much cozier than his cold apartment, full of textbooks and little else, because he lived at the hospital and lived on take-out. His kitchen contained little food beyond peanut butter, molding bread, coffee and hard liquor. He went home with his girls - ("Women," Mary Margaret would correct him. "And they have names!") - and robbed theirpantries, swiftly exiting with a bagel in his mouth, promising he'd call.

Mary Margaret wouldn't tolerate any of that nonsense and Dr. Whale wouldn't expect her to, or even dream she would. The woman was full of delightful surprises, and this Christmas would be his first in a relationship. (No, he couldn't make it home to see his parents this year. Neither could she. They could always go next year, maybe even together.)  It was exciting and scary, and New Years even more so. Mary Margaret hadn’t had a kiss at midnight in years. They'd do it at The Rabbit Hole and finally come out to the town. They were an unlikely pair, but they complemented each other, somehow. It would be a new year with a new beginning.

_Regina forgot to sabotage Snow White's life that year. No firings or arrests or evictions or any attempts to ruin her. It nagged at Regina that Snow had fallen in love again, with Victor of all people, and that she was healthy and happy and drama-free. It had been too long and the mind slips eventually, especially at middle age. Even within a beautiful young body such as Regina's, full of memories. Too many memories. She saw the couple hand in hand at Christmas, however, and counted down their final days together. There was always next year._

 

* * *

 

Dr. Archibald Hopper helped people. While Dr. Whale healed bodies, Hopper aimed to mend minds. Storybrooke was filled with heavy hearts - winter was the worst - and he could only help so many. Mainers were a people who kept their feelings close to the vest, but some still came by his office for an open ear and warm shoulder. Archie was half-redeeming himself - (for what, he couldn't quite remember anymore, but the guilt nagged at him) - and half genuinely in love with the job. Dr. Whale viewed medicine in black and white, leaving psychologists all the grey. Archie tried not to lecture or moralize, but some of his patients joked he was like a conscience anyway.

His own conscience ate at him when he thought of the psych ward at the hospital. The staff insisted that at some point he'd transferred those patients to another doctor's care. They were a danger to themselves and society, someone told him, before his memory grew fuzzier and an encounter with Mayor Mills made him forget entirely. It was always winter before he remembered the girl imprisoned down there. Bella? Was that her name?

_Regina would insist the cricket was imagining things. There was no Belle and the ward was empty anyway. One year he snuck down there and found her. Tried to free her with paperwork and finally by force. Regina ensured he forgot that too. He did it too often, over the years, for comfort._

_Jefferson was brought down there on his worst days, and he could hear faint crying through the walls. News of this worried Regina as well. He was supposed to be trapped in that gilded prison of his, not merely a thin wall away from Rumplestiltskin's True Love. Jefferson was signed into Archie's care, then, keeping them both distracted._

_The cricket retained his close friendship with Geppetto, which Regina couldn't do anything about. But Jiminy had never found love, and that much the Mayor could keep from him. She forgot, some years, to keep him away from the tarty werewolf._

Ruby Lucas was very young and very willful. Her grandmother was grooming her to take over her business, but the girl - who had lived in Storybrooke all her life - had never experienced college or vacations, and despite her short skirts and low-cut tops, ostentatious hair-do's and make-up, Ruby had trouble finding love as well. The Storybrooke men were Mainers through and through - hardy fishermen and miners, plus the modest country boys. Ruby dressed like a city girl. They thought she was trying too hard and clearly it had scared them all off, which was both Ruby's intent and its opposite.  
  
"I dress for me," she would insist to Mary Margaret, who would smile and chuckle. Mary Margaret's tastes ran along the lines of button-down sweaters and long dresses. Summer brought out her shorter skirts but they rarely fell above the knee. Ruby pushed her own wardrobe to its very limits. It got her tips, she said, which it did, but few dates.  
  
Dr. Whale's advances put her off. He was handsome, but smarmy. Ruby teased Mary Margaret relentlessly for going out with him. She also teased her for holding vigil for John Doe.

"Wake him with a kiss," she told her. Mary Margaret would blush. "Ya know? Like in the fairy tale?"

"I know the story, Ruby! And that's inappropriate!"

"Don't lie. You've thought about it."

Mary Margaret would cross her arms and narrow her eyes but it was still obvious she had considered it.

Around summertime, Archie started coming to the diner regularly, tying up his adorable dog Pongo out front. Ruby had trouble trying to pet the Dalmatian, however, because he would growl and bear his teeth at her. Mary Margaret would kneel down and pet Pongo behind the ears, and run her hand along his back and tail. The dog would nuzzle her and lick her face. The three of them would laugh but Ruby kept her distance. That's why she enjoyed her times with Dr. Hopper inside the diner, chatting away from his growling dog. Mary Margaret offered to walk the canine, which freed up the psychologist to take lunch with Ruby on her breaks. They'd walk around Storybrooke sometimes and the girl would pick his brain about his work. He couldn't tell her much, really, at least not about his patients, which was the "juicy" stuff Ruby wanted to hear.

"You work at the busiest restaurant in town," he would say to her. "Not to mention the hotel. You hear far more gossip than I ever would."

"It's not the same," Ruby would reply. "They're in  _public_."

"People reveal a lot more when they think no one's listening."

He'd tell her about his career back in Portland, and their lunches became dinners and their dinners became tender kisses under the moon. An anxious Ruby - whose only sexual experiences had been with immature Storybrooke boys who never called her back - and a tentative Archie - who was nearly two decades older ("You're not that old!" Ruby would insist) and hadn't been with a woman in a very, very long time ("Too long," Ruby would say) - finally took the next step during a full moon, when an impatient Ruby jumped him.

The girl was always restless and keyed up during full moons, all of her senses heightened. It was like the opposite of PMS. Those miserable weeks she wanted to curl up in bed with a box of chocolate and would snap at people - a poor habit for a waitress that didn't match up with her typically bubbly personality at all. The full moon, however, left her feeling like she could sprint through Storybrooke - to the very edge of the woods or the shore - and never grow tired. She could take on any challenge, couldn't she? Her talents were wasted at the bed and breakfast of a podunk town. But that was just her overactive imagination, of course, unless you asked Archie about his first night with her...

Mary Margaret was astonished but supportive. The psychologist had needed to loosen up anyway.

"I can't picture it," she would say, so Ruby tried to illustrate it for her. Mary Margaret would cover her ears. "It's just too strange!"

"Not as strange as you and Whale!" the girl would respond, never hiding her deep distrust of the doctor. "If he breaks your heart, I'm going to rip him to shreds!"

_Dr. Whale did break her heart some years, when Regina noticed their closeness and couldn't bear seeing Snow White happy any longer. Sometimes she seduced him away. Sometimes she arranged a job outside town for him and he would disappear. But on January 1st he'd wake up in his own bed again. There was no getting rid of either of the horrid girls' lovers, but then again, caging them all had been her intent. Her magic just had unintended consequences..._


	4. Two Lies

The worst New Years parties were the ones spent with Graham.

Everyone wanted the charming Irish sheriff around - (How had he ended up in Maine? No one remembered.) - and who wouldn't? Regina herself had chosen him, all those years ago, half for his talent and half for his looks, unaware he was so compassionate he would let her most hated enemy go. He had killed humans, had he not? He was a master archer and hunter with no qualms about taking the life of a poacher. But Snow White was barely twenty and she had never harmed anyone, save Regina. Of course the Huntsman would have let her escape. It seemed so obvious in retrospect.

Turning the Huntsman into a slave was both punishment and a pleasure. Keeping him a slave in Storybrooke was only natural. His heart beat deep in Regina's vault, so he was the one man in Storybrooke who would never find love, as all her enemies paired up around her. He was hers and hers alone, and sometimes it seemed they had fallen in love naturally, no rape involved at all. Regina spent those precious years getting to know his false and true selves intimately, longing to stay with him through Christmas and into a new year - and the next, and the next. This was ridiculous and impossible, not only because of looping time but because their entire relationship was a sham. A manipulation of a good man's heart, literally. Dark magic that kept such a kind soul at her beck and call was something she had once abhorred, all those many, many years ago. Everyone had wanted to control her - Cora, Leopold, Rumplestiltskin. This was why Regina collected hearts, but Graham's was the one she had abused most. It was vile, what she had become, but in Storybrooke she could give into the lie she was no rapist and he was with her willingly.

Kissing him one midnight was the worst of the Curse, because it was the first time she saw the townspeople's eyes change and minds swiftly, subtly forget. She didn't know until that moment the nature of time embedded in it. That was the year she organized the New Years dance at Town Hall and decided she never would again. After their kiss, Graham had politely stepped away and nodded his head respectfully. No, they hadn't been embracing passionately, hidden under the stairs, moments earlier. She was his boss and he was her subordinate. He always had been, even beneath her in his bed. "Happy New Year, ma'am," the Sheriff would say, and it broke her heart all over again, the lie so embedded.

But love was weakness, and she didn't let it pierce her core again, not until Jefferson. And even then, why let it? He was her pet too.

  
**August 1998**   


"Get out."

"I didn't know you played the piano."

Regina approached the beautiful instrument and softly ran a palm along its black surface. She moved to touch the keys but the touch of his hand on her wrist stopped her. She smirked. Jefferson's "No's" had started to mean "Yes," and his "Leave's" became "Stay's," at least on days like this, when her sleeveless dresses stopped high above the knee and the sunlight streamed in through the curtains so brightly that even if he could exit his home, the summer heat would drive him back inside.

Jefferson could step out the door if he tried, if he concentrated. It was difficult, and had become even harder now that Regina knew everything. But the witch's magic was subconscious, now, not deliberate. She could lie and say the Curse was still hers to shape, when it had always been Rumplestiltskin's - (Who else's could it have been?) - with intricacies that were unpredictable and consequences that were unforeseen. But if Regina wanted him to stay put, then he would stay put. Jefferson was too exhausted, most days, to put on the fine clothes he'd always loved - (It had been a slap in the face to give him back his riches with no daughter to share it with) - or any clothes at all, besides unwashed sweatpants. His countless, flawless hats took up so much of his time, he frequently forgot to eat. The sun rose and set and nothing stayed open past 7 at night in a tiny port town in Maine, anyway. If he slept until dinnertime and went back to bed at breakfast, what was the  _point_ in stepping outside? What was out there but Grace and her false family? No lovers. There was no one but Alice in his dreams. No friends. His confused broken mind fractured half-way through a conversation. It was safe, inside. Yes, safe. Was his front door magically barred by that vile witch who had stolen his life from him twice, or had he sealed it shut himself? It was hard to tell. She would show up to mark the months with open bottles and open legs anyway.

He stood just behind her and reached around to cover her hand with his own. That goddamn witch's short hair showed off her bare back, and she always had a shapely figure  _(The fairest of them all)_ , even at the ripe age of 50  _(Were they cursed with immortality, now?)_. He pushed her down onto the bench and told her to play.

"I don't know how," she said.

"Then how do I?"

She shook her head, uncomprehending.  _(Lying...lying...Paranoia was his worst symptom, now.)_

He started to breathe heavily behind her, and she knew now this wasn't a sign of arousal, it was a sign of an outburst, so she humored him and placed her fingers on the ivory and fumbled out "Heart and Soul," which every American knew, somehow, but the man would push her aside that night and beautiful, flawless music poured from the instrument, and she didn't know how he knew, or why, but then again she didn't know how Dr. Whale knew modern medicine, how one of Snow's seven dwarves knew pharmacology, how farmers now worked in IT, or fairies could be Christians.

Jefferson had many talents, but the Enchanted Forest had no pianos. Which was just as well, because he couldn't ever get a lute or a harp to play more than discordant basics. He was useless at woodwinds and was a mediocre singer at best. He knew riddles and rhymes and tavern songs, but Regina had only vague recollections of the boy sharing such things with her. This New Yorker looming over her was upper class, and would have been forced into learning piano and rhetoric, given tutors and language lessons, enrolled at the finest prep school and university, groomed for international finance or something similar, all the while stealing away in his parents' car at every opportunity to pick up girls, or guys, and waste his trust fund.

Storybrooke's Jefferson wasn't either care-free man. He was a bitter ghost haunting a huge empty house. He spent just as much time playing his hated piano as he did tirelessly exercising, and crafting hats, and spying on Grace and neighbors, and screaming incoherently, cursing his lack of magical skill (which he'd never had in the first place). Cursing a world without magic, and Dark Curses, and vile witches. Finally lying down, exhausted, to get lost in happy dreams, before waking up and doing it all over again.

He nudged his lover/enemy aside and sat down at the piano to force real music onto her, which was no real punishment because Regina sat impressed, watching him with real admiration. Watched his intense expression and beautifully odd face. He'd wanted to deny her pleasure but Regina always got what she wanted. She touched his bare back and leaned into him, the music washing over them, making the pair forget for a few minutes that they despised each other.


	5. Three Decades

Mary Margaret was thirty, single, and stuck in Maine.

Not stuck, exactly, but it was where she had _settled._ (Only several hours from where she'd grown up, and the fishing town Storybrooke was positively cosmopolitan in contrast.) She had found her calling - she loved children and she loved to teach. So what if she was overworked, underpaid, or unlucky in love? Mary Margaret hadn't been with anyone since moving to Storybrooke, but it hadn't been a painful break with her ex. More like a drift apart. Wanting different things. (True Love, for example, which just wasn't in the cards.) Mary Margaret had difficulty remembering her ex's name, now. The past was always fuzzy, when she tried to think hard about it. When she tried to picture her parents' faces.

But this was temporary. Things would get better.

But Mary Margaret had been thirty for twenty-eight years. This hadn't been much of a problem, however, because Mary Margaret hadn't noticed.

She first turned thirty in 1983, celebrated this milestone again in 1993, and told herself it was okay to still be thirty, single, and stuck in Maine in 2003.

The teacher's clouded memory shifted to compensate, writing and rewriting her backstory as a typical child of 1950's Maine. Mary Margaret was also a child of the '70's, and the '90's, and none of these experiences contradicted each other because it had been 1983, 1993 and 2003 all year, and if one were being really picky, it had always been 8:15.


	6. Four Promises

Regina Mills had been a gifted sorceress, and was immune to her own Dark Curse's memory-wiping magic. But the curse wrapped around her brain in subtle ways - granting her knowledge of this new land, and a fabricated backstory as vivid as Mary Margaret's, though it only emerged in rare dreams. Time for her was linear, her youthful body the only thing frozen at 8:15. 

Regina no longer had access to her magic, however, and could no longer shape her intricate spell. Her hated enemies' sealed fates were decided that night in the enveloping clouds of the Curse. Somewhere horrible, she decided, leaving Snow White with no happy ending. Leaving every major player of her downfall loveless and lonely.

Regina kept some promises. The Hatter's daughter Grace would want for nothing.

She kept some particularly vile grudges intact. The children Hansel and Gretel would still be homeless.

Some old friends, like the beast Maleficent, would count the tick of every minute as she did.

Some deals couldn't be broken, no matter how much she wished they could. Rumplestiltskin owned the town with as iron a fist as her own.

Some things would bend as they wished. If Charming was catatonic, just as many of his subjects lived ordinary lives oblivious of any punishment Regina had meant to dole out. Storybrooke was full of nameless townspeople she had brought entirely by accident. Names and faces she didn't know.

She would get to know each and every one over twenty eight years, out of boredom and curiosity, but she'd still wonder what their names had been back home, or if it even mattered anymore.


	7. Five Faces

They think he can't see, and Regina thinks he doesn't remember.

Jefferson decides sometime into his fifteenth year in Storybrooke to actively seek out the Mayor and either persuade her to end this madness, or slit her throat. Progress moves slowly, however, because it's not until his third month he can suppress his intensely irrational fear of stepping out the door.

Some spell conjured by Regina - he knows this, it stinks of her - or paralyzing agoraphobia from his new identity. The Jeff to his Jefferson, though they haven't named each other or made formal introductions. He wakes as though Wonderland were just some bad dream, before parental instincts kick in and he cries out for Grace. It isn't until he catches his breath and looks around this house's kitchen that Jeff blinks and the Hatter is looking out through eyes not his own.

Jefferson's life isn't perfect; a mental breakdown shattered it. His old colleagues think he's on some kind of sabbatical. He told the real estate agent the very same thing. It was shocking no one stopped him leaving Manhattan. Attempted suicides needed partners, family, doctors, or roommates. It took attending endless counseling sessions to get anyone in his life to even consider the idea of Jefferson taking off on his own. He took his meds and they backed off. No cutting, no risky behavior. No debilitating depressive episodes. Even his mania leveled out.

He had no one left in New York who could stop him, anyway. He had no one there he would miss.

This life - this sad life with no love - slams headlong into the Hatter's consciousness in less than a minute, as muscle memory prepares coffee. As if Jeff's illness and the Hatter's own weren't horrible enough, this Curse had combined them.

Grace, he thinks, he needs to get to Grace. It's not until his sixth month he can get himself to turn his car's ignition key. Deliverymen bring food to the house and take the trash away, their eyes full of pity (not sympathy). Not that Jefferson can't survive on his own, on the supply his house came stocked with. The humble life had turned Jefferson into a survivor. He could turn the barest minimum ingredients into something that passed for a feast to his daughter. She shouldn't have to live like that, he had thought. She should have the stars.

It's approaching the nine-month mark when Jefferson finally makes it to Main Street and successfully seeks out Grace. She doesn't recognize him.

It breaks his heart all over again, how fearful she looks. Scared of  _him_ , her own father. "She will want for nothing," Regina had promised, and he knows she meant it when he sees his daughter's new parents, with the faces of their old neighbors - the same ones he had entrusted her to - picking her up from school.

Her mother ( _Mother? No, Alice was her mother)_ affectionately runs her hand over Grace's hair, and the girl makes a face - an eyeroll that reminds him of Alice - before leaning into the touch. Jefferson grits his teeth and holds back tears. He finds the diner next, and Ruby, and whispers and glares and anxiety. Nauseus and heartbroken, Jeff's fear of crowded places vetoes the Hatter's need for anyone to tell him it will be okay if he stays, that he is wanted, that he is worth someone's - anyone's - time.

Ruby returns with his food to find his chair hastily pulled out and the man's mug of tea untouched.

It takes fifteen years for Jefferson to even consider speaking to Regina, but the sight of her sickens him. Jeff begins to lust for her while the Hatter screams inside his head to quell the thoughts, but memories of lovely, loathsome Regina's body surface on lonely nights he pleasures himself.

Alice was the last woman he touched, and when he watches the naked, leering blondes in Jeff's collection of pornographic movies, they aren't any match for the girl with the long, sunny hair so fine and straight, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief and affection.

Jefferson doesn't think about their parting (it shatters him) or their meeting (she was too young then), but their joined life. The joining of their hands and hips. These women on his television are beautiful, made up to be flawless. Actresses taking all the right cues from their partners and directors. From the male gaze.

Alice laughs and cries in the Hatter's cloudy memories and he can't imagine ever being with anyone else.

But a brunette appears on the screen, now. He plays all her tapes over and over - her "films." Her character poorly acted but masterfully fucked. The actress reminds him of Regina, her skin olive and hair black. Red lips. He shuts his eyes and it's Regina there with him. It is  _her_  hands on his body, he imagines.

Perhaps if Regina wrenches this one last thing from him, she will let him go.

"Good boy," she hoarsely whispers in his ear. Those delicate, deadly hands squeezing just a bit harder. Touching him just the way he likes, but teasing too.

"Please," he whispers to no one, but she's smirking at him.

"Please what?" she asks.

"Release me, Regina."

Her hand moves faster; he's close, now, so very close.

"Jefferson...

"My  _Queen_."

She leans in close and he can almost feel her hot breath on his neck.

"You only had to ask."

Once he climaxes, the specter is gone. He relaxes but his relief is soon replaced by self-loathing, and the Hatter sobs.


End file.
